


A Midsummer’s Dream

by amuk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Immortality, Romance, Slice of Life, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Ingrid wasn’t expecting much from her trip to Ireland. It was just a fun trip meeting her old university roommates and any time with Annette and Mercedes promised to be fun. What she hadn’t counted on was stumbling into a Fae party in the middle of the night. Or to dance with a flirty redhead who somehow knew all the right things to say.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15
Collections: Sylvgrid Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sylvgrid Big Bang! I wanted to write something fantasy-esque, since I’ve always loved the genre, and with a slight homage to a series I’ve loved for a long time. I might(?) add more chapters later on (I have a general idea for the next section). I was originally planning for this to be like…5k max, and now it’s 8k and counting. Perhaps I too can write chaptered fics.  
> I blame Annette and Mercedes for making this thing so damn long, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO ONLY BE A CHAPTER, NOT HALF THE FIC.
> 
> @ oclear0 on twitter made the most amazing piece with it!

Leaning out her window, Ingrid took a deep breath of the sweet, clean air. Well, mostly sweet. The countryside wasn’t the countryside without the occasional pungent whiff of manure. As Annette drove down narrow, dirt lanes, humming some silly ditty or the other, Ingrid quietly observed her surroundings.

She had expected Ireland to be cramped. Back when they were in university together in Toronto, it was the number one thing Annette couldn’t get over. Canada was big. The United States was big. You could drive for hours without reaching another town. At the time, Ingrid had thought her quirky roommate was exaggerating things, but now that she was here…

Well, she understood. Highways merged in and out of small towns seamlessly, and what should have been an hour journey at most took hours because of local traffic. The distance between places was tiny; she still couldn’t believe that another country was only a stone’s throw away. Even tinier were the cars, the roads, the houses, the people.

Well, person. Ingrid grinned as she averted her gaze from the blurring countryside and turned back to her old roommate. Annette’s nose scrunched as she concentrated on her driving, looking as though she was about to fight a war or argue with Lysithea instead of just driving down a nearly empty road. “You know, Lysithea’s taller than you now.”

“She’s what?” Annette gaped, tearing her eyes from the road to stare at her for a long minute. Like a fish, she opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Seriously?”

The car shook slightly as they went through a pothole and she quickly focused on the road.

“It’s not by much,” Ingrid consoled, chuckling. Back in university, Lysithea and Annette had been competitive over everything. Well, it might have been more one-sided on Annette’s part; just like her fiery red hair, she got caught up in her emotions sometimes. Still, Lysithea had crowed over her height the second she’d noticed, and maybe it had been more mutual than Ingrid had ever realized.

“If yer lyin’…” Annette warned. Her Irish lilt was more noticeable now that she was back home and maybe it’d take a few years before it would be impossible to tell what she was saying when she was angry. “I’ll tell Mercie you want a makeover.”

“That…” Ingrid swallowed at the thought of her old schoolmate. Despite appearing to be the ‘Mom-friend’ of the group, Mercedes had been surprisingly aggressive and persistent when it came to getting her way. Such as wanting them to all dress up for any parties she hosted.

Ingrid could solidly claim that she had memorized the steps to putting on makeup because of that. Which had come in handy during her job interviews, but she would never admit that aloud.

Instead, she asked, “How’s she liking Ireland?”

“Oh, she loves it sure!” Annette giggled, a happy blush spreading across her cheeks as she thought about her long-term girlfriend. “Everyone loves herself and she’s even got a job at the local pub on her. We’re goin’ wait like, an hour, for her shift t’ end, but then we can head on home. You good for that? Or do you need sleep?”

“Slept enough on the plane.” Ingrid rubbed her neck. It might not have been the most comfortable sleep, but it was more than enough to fight off the jetlag for now. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a shower.”

“You definitely smell like it, sure,” Annette teased in a sing-song voice and Ingrid had a bad feeling about what the subject of her next song would be.

Ingrid huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t on the plane that long.”

“Airplane breath—”

“Annette!” Ingrid growled, blocking her ears before she could hear the rest. The worst thing about Annette’s ditties was how catchy they were. Sure, they were the silliest things on the planet, but once they were in your head, they didn’t get out easily.

And she really didn’t want to unconsciously hum about how stinky she felt.

Laughing, Annette poked her arm. “I give, I give. But yeah, Merce’s friends with everyone now. She’s even has my grandparents wrapped around her finger.”

Giving Annette a suspicious look, Ingrid lowered her hands. “That’s not surprising.”

It was impossible to hate Mercedes. That was a scientific fact.

“They all say her accent is sexy,” Annette added, sounding mildly traumatized. “And I think my mum likes herself more than me.”

Ingrid smiled wryly. “Don’t you like her accent too?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s because it’s funny, sure.” Annette turned the wheel, taking a sharp right at the next intersection. It was a paved road now and the empty countryside slowly melted into a more crowded city. “And I don’t want t’ know what my grandparents think is sexy.”

It took Ingrid a whole minute to process that. Horrified, she shrank into her seat, staring at Annette with wide eyes. “Your grandparents?”

There were some things you couldn’t unhear, and that was one of them.

-x-

Ballyvaughan was small. Not small in a ‘small town’ kinda way, but small in a ‘tiny, you could fit everyone into a banquet hall’ way. There were less than 300 people in the whole town. Ingrid was certain that she had more people in one of her first-year classes in university.

That meant it was immediately obvious that she was a stranger the second she went anywhere. Even before she spoke a word, people asked if she was “Annette’s American friend—not that girlfriend, but th’ other one.”

And then a few jabs and sly winks about how “Annette sure likes ‘em big for such a tiny girl.”

Considering that her own family were the most uptight people she’d ever met, Ingrid wasn’t sure if she was jealous for such easy (if nosey, clearly wrong, and a little creepy) acceptance, or if she was just glad that her grandparents never did more than just pinch cheeks.

Judging by how hard Annette sputtered from each of these remarks, a lifetime of hearing them wasn’t enough to get used to it.

“It’s a nice place,” Ingrid said, slipping back into Annette’s compact car. They’d explored enough of the town’s hub; she wasn’t sure if Annette could take it anymore. If she could take it anymore. It was better just to wait for Mercedes in the parking lot. “I can’t believe you know so many people.”

“It’s a small town and they’re all busybodies.” Annette groaned, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. They’re all really excited and no one knows what t’ say and—” She broke into an unintelligible sound.

“It’s fine.” Ingrid patted her back gingerly.

“I really do love it here and they’re all really nice people and I love ‘em but…” Annette lifted her head, resting her chin on the steering wheel. “They’re all too much sometimes. It was so nice and quiet when we lived together. Just the two of us.”

“I remember Mercedes staying over quite a bit,” she added wryly. Curious, she asked, “Is your house crowded?” Annette had often spoken of her extended family, a chain of aunts, uncles, and cousins that had enough characters to fill a book.

“Kinda. I mean, mum and pap live there, and both sets of grandparents. My aunt sometimes stays when she’s fighting with her husband, sure. It’s crowded, and a little awkward sometimes. Especially because of sex—” Annette bit her tongue, flushing a bright red that could rival her hair.

Ingrid felt her skin burn too and she looked away.

Clearing her throat, Annette continued like nothing had happened. “ANYWAYS, there’s a lotta us. So mum insisted we’d get the place remodeled so there’s enough space. They’re all staying with my aunts and uncles until it’s done, while we have the run of the house for ourselves.”

“Oh.” Ingrid nodded, pressing her cold hands to her neck as she tried to keep her voice even. “That’s good.”

A rapping noise interrupted them and Ingrid had never been more grateful for a break in the conversation. “Who—”

Without warning, her door yanked open and two arms wrapped around her tightly, half-pulling her out of her seat. “Ingrid!”

It took all of Ingrid’s reflexes to turn her head so she wouldn’t die of suffocation. Mercedes hugs were as tight as ever and she gasped, “It’s good to see you too.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Mercedes squeezed her again. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Mercie!” Annette leaned over, scrambling over the car seat as she tried and failed to pry open her girlfriend’s arms. “Yer killing herself.”

“Oh.” Mercedes looked down and relaxed her grasp. “Oh sorry, I can’t have that.”

“It’s…” Ingrid panted, chest heaving as she tried to get some oxygen. “Fine…”

Patting her head, Mercedes coddled her. “Oh, you poor dear. You look so exhausted—let’s get you back to our place for some food and rest.”

“That…sounds…good,” Ingrid breathed, certain that her state was more due to Mercedes than anything else. “I’ll…move…back…”

“It’s fine, you stay here.” Mercedes poked her head into the car, pressing a chaste kiss on Annette’s cheek before stepping out. “I’ll sit in the back and you can tell me everything.”

Her hand curled on her chest, crumpling her shirt as she slowly calmed down. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Mercedes insisted, sliding into the backseat. “Starting with darling Lysithea’s height.”

Annette spluttered. “Mercie!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irish peeps, forgive me for butchering your accent in an attempt to write accent.

_Soft_. Ingrid’s bed was a hard thing and she didn’t know what to make of the soft mattress beneath her. Her body practically sank into it and she felt a small crick in her back. The ceiling above her was utterly unfamiliar as well and Ingrid stared at it.

She must have passed out after they’d gotten to Annette’s place yesterday, the jet lag stronger than she’d realized. Turning her head, she looked out the window to her right to find a long, green farmland. To her left, her suitcase stood, still closed and unpacked.

“Ingrid?” Mercedes knocked on the door, peeking in. “Have a good sleep?”

“Yeah.” Ingrid ran a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright.” Smiling, Mercedes shook her head. “We have all of today to catch up! The bathroom’s on the right. I’ll just go finish making breakfast.”

There was something utterly lazy about having someone else make breakfast for her. Ingrid wasn’t sure she liked it. Sure, she was the guest, but getting waited on—it didn’t sit right to her. Forcing herself up, she stumbled across the room in a rush to get ready. Unpacking could wait till later, she just had to grab the bare essentials for now.

The house was narrower than she’d expected. The halls, the rooms, everything felt crammed, as though to take up the least amount of room possible. Ingrid had never felt vertigo in her life, but she considered it as she stared at the staircase. Even those looked too small to be usable.

She’d studied what to expect before travelling, but it still didn’t prepare her for this. The others were already in the kitchen when she’d finally made it. On a small table barely big enough to fit all of them, Annette took up half of it with a pile of papers. Mercedes stood by the stove, flipping an egg.

“Yer up!” Annette grinned as she looked up from her papers, almost bouncing in her seat. “Good, because today’s _busy_ and we’ll need all the time we got.”

“Busy?” Ingrid perked up, curious. Annette had said to leave the planning to her so while Ingrid had given a precursory glance on what to do in Ballyvaughan, she hadn’t really thought too deeply about it.

“I’ve organized our tour, sure.” Annette picked up a piece of paper, puffing out her chest with pride. “Where we’re going an’ when, it’s all finally together.”

“That’s…good…” Ingrid trailed off as she squinted at the long list. Every line was filled with something, and with Annette’s ridiculously neat writing, it somehow looked even more crowded. Every hour of the day was scheduled with some place or the other.

“I sorted by place, then importance.” Annette looked at her expectantly.

“That’s…” Ingrid liked doing things on her vacation. She couldn’t handle lazing about on a beach or staying at home. It was too boring staying still. Yet, even she balked at the fact that the plan was to see some caves, walk along the shoreline, visit two castles, climb to a fairy fort, and then maybe, _maybe_ , see some ruins.

In one day.

Ingrid considered pinching herself. She couldn’t be reading it right.

“Love…” Mercedes, as usual, knew how to handle it. She reached over, squeezing Annette’s shoulders. “We can’t do all of those.”

Perplexed, Annette stared at the schedule, then at them. “Why not?”

“It’s just…” Ingrid grasped for straws. “Aren’t you bad with sports?”

“It’s just walkin’.” Annette rolled her eyes and huffed. Crossing her arms, she muttered, “Anyone can do that.”

“Are we only spending an hour at each place?” Mercedes asked, tracing the schedule with a finger.

“Trust me, t’at’s more than enough time.” Puffing her chest with pride, Annette gestured pointed at the fairy fort on the list. “It’s really just a bunch o’ rocks, you won’t really want t’ do more than a photo.”

“Oh, Annette, you think that just because you live here.” Mercedes sighed, shaking her head. Her hair remained coiled over shoulder, as though permanently fixed there. “This is all new to Ingrid.”

“That’s…” Annette flinched. She tugged on a lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger. “I…it’s not that…bad…”

Ingrid stared at the schedule one last time before reluctantly adding, “And, uh…you didn’t account for travel time.”

“What?” Annette plucked her schedule. She paled as she stared. “Just…uh…give me a minute.”

“Take as many as you need.” Mercedes leaned forward, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “In the meantime, let’s get you some breakfast, Ingrid.”

Ingrid eagerly picked up a plate. Even if they halved Annette’s plans, she’d need all the energy she could get.

-x-

Fortunately, common sense won and the schedule spread out over the course of her three week stay instead of everything squished into a single week. As Mercedes had pointed out, Ingrid could always come again next summer.

And she definitely wanted to—especially to explore the rest of Europe. It bowled her over how old Ireland felt, how there was a sense of history and the past around every corner. She couldn’t say the same for home; there wasn’t much of a past in Toronto. Things built on each other in a dizzying array of combinations, the past integrating with the present until it created something new. Unless it was something from more than a hundred years ago, in which case it was promptly bulldozed and trampled over.

Here? She felt the past distinctly. The town square with its historical buildings. The Aillwee caves felt like a journey through the earth. The bridges felt like something out of a movie she’d seen once. And the forts, the piles of rocks and rubble left as markers to people long gone by, overgrown by bushes and grass.

Ingrid leaned forward as she studied the fairy fort. There were three layers of stone wall encircling it, each ring on a different layer till it reminded her of those theatre stages in the park.

“What do ya think?” Annette asked, eyes bright as she gestured proudly at the ruin. Despite her words earlier about how boring and quickly they could get through the sight-seeing portion of her tour, she’d spent the past few days pointing out every small fact and tidbit.

“Impressive.” Ingrid smiled, walking closer now. “It’s not like the other one.”

“Yeah, that’s one more of a…” Annette scratched her cheek thinking of the fairy ring they’d visited yesterday. While there had obviously been a ring of some sort, it looked like a dirt mound that someone had forgotten about. “Well, not all o’ ‘em can be winners.”

“I can’t believe you have so many of them.” Ingrid looked over her shoulder. They’d climbed a gently sloping hill to get here, and she made out the town in a distance. If this had been a defensive position, it was a good one. “They’re everywhere.”

“It’s like people forgot to clean up after themselves,” Mercedes added, chuckling. Her hair braided hair coiled on top of her head, giving her a more dignified look than usual. “Like little kids.”

Ingrid unconsciously touched her own short hair; Mercedes had somehow managed to braid some of it, a princess’s circlet to Mercedes’s queenly crown. It wasn’t all that bad; somehow oddly practical despite the ribbons tying it together. Maybe she’d try that next time she had to go anywhere formal and fancy. “Only you’d call a ruin a kid’s mess.”

Annette giggled. “Well, she’s not wrong. We made ‘em and then just left ‘em there. I’m sure the fairies like ‘em, though. Free houses.”

“Messy, free houses.” Mercedes cradled her cheek, sighing. “You didn’t leave them anything nice.”

Ingrid pulled out her phone, taking a few quick photos as they talked. “So, where next?”

“We’re…” Annette sighed, her brow furrowing with annoyance. “We’re gonna drink.”

“Drinking?” Ingrid raised a brow. Considering how poorly Annette handled her alcohol, she’d sworn off it back during their university days. Especially after she’d made a fool of herself in front of her old flame.

“I know, I know.” Annette’s shoulders slumped, and she leaned against Mercedes. “But everyone wants t’ meet you.”

“My coworkers, her family…” Mercedes smiled, rubbing Annette’s back. “It’ll be fun! You can meet everyone.”

“Just not my grandparents,” Annette closed her eyes, looking pale. “I don’t want t’ know if they find _yer_ accent sexy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be a Sylvgrid BB, Mercedes, Annette, look at yourselves and be ashamed.

For the second time that week, Ingrid found herself standing in the parking lot to a pub, a dozen curious eyes on her. Unlike the first time, though, she couldn’t hide in the car and drive away. No, the redheads around her were Annette’s family and friends (and a few curious strangers that Ingrid remembered from her first day).

“I’m sorry t’ ambush ya like this,” Annette said, glaring at her family. They reacted the same way you did to a kitten’s growl; ignoring it. “But they’re all very eager.”

“O’ course we are!” A small, well-built woman stepped forward, and even before Annette said anything, Ingrid knew she was her mother. There was something unmistakable about her bright eyes and even brighter smile. She was also extremely short. “We heard so much about ya, Ingrid.”

“Mum,” Annette gestured.

“Yer a real beauty,” a plump woman added as she stepped out, her hair dyed with several streaks of purple. “Gonna settle down here t’?”

“Her aunt,” Mercedes supplied helpfully.

“Can’t make any decisions without a drop of drink,” a tall man ( _uncle_ , Annette quickly supplied) added, already opening the door to the pub.

“Whiskey, all around,” cried some cousin or the other.

Ingrid didn’t even manage to get in a word before she was ushered in, a glass shoved into her hand.

-x-

Ingrid felt warm.

“I feel warm,” she said loudly. Well, considering how loud the pub was, her voice was nothing. Really, she should be speaking louder, if anything. How was Annette supposed to hear her otherwise?

“Warm?” Seated on the other side of the table, Annette looked over her half-drunk pint. As with the rest of the bar, even the glass had a classic feel to it: the dimpled mug, the oversized handle, the tampered bottom. The table looked like something out of a medieval dining hall.

“None of this matches,” Ingrid mumbled, glancing around the large room. While the entrance to the pub had looked small and out of the way, nestled in the crook of two intersecting streets, the interior was surprisingly big. There was room to comfortably fit a hundred people.

It definitely felt like it. Around them, dozens of tables were packed to the brim, friends and family cramming seats together as they roared with laughter and chatted eagerly. At some point, they’d forgotten about her, leaving her alone with their food and drinks. The greasy scent of fish and chips mixed with the heady scent of booze, and Ingrid wrinkled her nose. “Why is it always that?”

Annette pushed her glass to the side and shot her a wry look. “You are so drunk.”

“I’m not,” she retorted, the words heavy on her tongue. If anything, she was probably a little tired; her legs tingled pleasantly, her head felt like it was underwater, and maybe she was coming down with something. “It’s jetlag.”

“Jetlag ended yesterday.” Annette groaned, reaching over to grab Ingrid’s empty glass. She stared at the single golden drop sliding down the side, the only proof that there had been anything inside at all. “That’s it, no more tonight. I forgot how lightweight you are.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Ingrid grumbled, crossing her arms. “It wasn’t that much.”

“If you don’t count that whiskey you had, it wasn’t.” Annette snorted, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I can’t believe you o’ all people are drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Ingrid repeated, rolling her eyes. That was a mistake; it took too long for the world to right itself up after. Maybe she was a little buzzed. Just a little. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Annette sighed, getting up. Her blue dress swished around her knees as she slipped out of the table. “Look, I’ll find Mercedes and we can go home then. I think our welcome party lasted long enough now.”

Ingrid’s brow knit and she protested, “You don’t have to stop for me. I’m fine.”

Picking up the glasses, Annette chuckled. “I like sleepin’ early, sure.”

As she walked away, Ingrid leaned back to watch her go. And then leaned even further back, since there was nothing to stop her. Grabbing the table edge, she just barely managed to keep her balance.

Okay, maybe she was drunk. Ingrid had never thought of herself as a heavy drinker, but everyone gave her a glass the second they’d pulled her in for a conversation. 

She had never been able to turn down free food. It was impossible.

Rapping her fingers in a steady beat, she glanced around. Mercedes was in a corner, talking to a short, silver-haired man, freckles dotting his sun-kissed skin. Annette was caught up at the bar, chatting with a hulking beast of man and their tomboyish waiter. They looked happy. Why cut this short for them? Ingrid was more than capable of walking to their place—she was just drunk, not knocked out. And who knew, the fresh air could sober her up. It wasn’t even a long walk, really. Ireland was tiny.

The more she thought about it, the better the idea was. Peeking at them both one last time, Ingrid quickly slipped out of the table and shambled over to the entrance. Luckily, she wasn’t the only drunk customer stumbling out the door and no one took notice.

Pulling out her phone, her fat fingers tapped out her destination. It took her three tries, but soon google had a blue line ready for her, marking out the way to Annette’s modest home. The parking lot was still filled with cars, despite the fact that it was twelve am, and Ingrid wasn’t sure what to make of that. It wasn’t even Friday or the weekend. Even the grandparents were still here. Maybe the town was full of party animals.

Or maybe Mercedes was right, and she really did need to get out more. No one else looked like they were leaving yet, despite the state they were in. A group of college students sat on the hoods of their cars, crooning to the moon between fits of laughter. Passed out, a man lay on his trunk. And nearby, almost hidden in the trees, a couple were—

Ingrid flushed, looking away. Luckily, that wasn’t the way home. No, her way was down the winding streets uphill, toward the border between the countryside and the town. People nodded at her as she passed. No doubt everyone already knew who she was and she waved back awkwardly. It was a warm summer night, a cool breeze from the nearby ocean bringing modicum of relief, and she pushed back her bangs as she slowly trekked onward.

At least she was right—the night air had sobered her up. A pleasant tingle remained on her lips, running down her spine, in her thighs, but the rest of her was starting to feel more normal after this walk. Ingrid had never considered herself particularly graceful, but now at least she wasn’t _clumsy_.

Unfortunately, feeling normal also brought back her appetite, and Ingrid flushed as her stomach gurgled. “Why are you hungry?” she admonished, grateful no one had been around to hear that. She’d only eaten an hour ago. “They fed me enough to last two days.”

Uncaring, her stomach complained once more. Well, she was almost home. The once overcrowded neighbourhood started to thin out, the houses spacing out as she hit the edge of town. If she remembered correctly, she had to take the next intersection.

Ingrid glanced at her phone. A black screen greeted her and she clicked her teeth. _Locked._ Impatiently, she pressed a button and waited for its familiar light to wash over her.

The screen remained stubbornly black.

A feeling of disbelief washed over her and she pressed the button again. No response. Her phone had died. “Of all the--,” Ingrid swore, stuffing the useless thing back into her pocket. “Whatever, I don’t need it.”

She’d never gotten lost before, and she wasn’t about to start now. The route back would come to her as she walked. It was definitely a right at the next intersection. At night, the rolling fields were almost impossible to recognize, but she vaguely recalled the mailbox just ahead.

Now she was in the country proper, the moon shining brightly as it lit her way. Oddly enough, there were no cars on the road tonight, leaving just her and chirping crickets. She had always been a country girl at heart, and she’d walked through empty fields enough as a child that this felt more comfortable than scary.

An owl hooted and Ingrid paused, brushing her hair behind her ear as she tried to find it. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but at some point the flat fields had changed into a forest-covered hill. Ingrid squinted. Maybe it was the booze, but she saw lights at the top of the hill.

_A party? A lost hiker?_ Ingrid glanced up and down the road once more, but there still wasn’t so much as a car in sight. Well, whatever it was, it wouldn’t hurt for her to check it out. She was more than capable of defending herself, if it came to that.

The moonlight barely made it through the leafy canopy, a few stray moonbeams here and there all she had to guide her as she picked her way through the woods. There wasn’t a proper path. Ingrid groped around her blindly, relying on tree trunks to steady her as she carefully stepped over roots and odd dips in the ground.

_Maybe I should get a flashlight_ , she thought, taking a deep breath as she leaned against a tree. There were nearby houses. One of them was bound to help.

As though hearing her thoughts, dozens of fireflies drifted out of the bushes and trees, their glow more than enough to light up the ground. They almost seemed to line up, a soft, yellow path that extended all the way to the faint glow.

“Weird,” she murmured. Annette would definitely know weird firefly behaviour like this and she pocketed away the question for later. For now, it was more than enough to see, and Ingrid kept climbing.

As she got closer, the glow grew brighter and brighter. The delicate thrills of flutes were matched by the heady tone of the fiddle and other wind and stringed instruments joined in. Over it all, the sound of laughter and Ingrid had been right. It was a party.

She glanced behind her. The fireflies were gone now, like wisps in the wind. Well, if there was a party, there was an easier way down than this. Ingrid pushed past the last of the trees and entered a broad field. Above her, the stars twinkled, but their glow was far outmatched by the many lanterns strung across the open space, even more lights wrapped around the stone wall that ringed the area. Dozens of strangers danced and laughed in the center, while even more people ringed the field, chatting and eating.

On the far end, mouth-watering scents drifted off a table laden with food.

She should go.

Her stomach grumbled.

She should go.

Ingrid closed her eyes and swallowed. Somehow, that only made the smell even more delicious: roasted chicken, buttered potatoes, baked fish—

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I looked,” she muttered, mostly to convince herself.

It was a big party. It wasn’t like anyone would miss a plateful or two.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Sylvain appears! With a grumpy Felix.

There was something hilarious about how consistent Felix was. Sylvain had known him for centuries, and the man was steadier than a rock. Kingdoms came and went, wars won and lost, old ideas gained new names, and Felix was an antisocial bastard despite it all.

Which is why Sylvain knew exactly what expression Felix was making before he even bumped into him at the party: a grumpy glare, with a hint of irritation. He didn’t bother to hide his laugh when all of that was directed at him. “Are you sure yer face didn’ freeze like that?”

Felix rolled his eyes, before casting his gaze onto the party once more. “Some o’ us have t’ keep an eye out.”

“For what?” Exasperated, he slung an arm around Felix’s shoulder. While the display of affection grated him (one day, he was going to lose his teeth from all that grinding), Felix didn’t step away. “We’re not in any danger. A little glamour, and any gate crashers will think this was all jus’ a dream. You don’t need t’ scare them off.”

“I do.” Felix gave him a flat look as he crossed his arms. “We shouldn’t have gate crashers in the first place.”

“It’s tradition. The common folk always have a chance t’ visit.” Sylvain sighed; his friend really missed out on the finer things in life. “Besides, it’s more fun that way. It’s boring dancing with the same people over and over again.”

“Borin’ for you, maybe.” Felix snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. “Everyone else doesn’t burn through their partners the way you do.”

He couldn’t protest. It was true. Sylvain was good at charming people, if he said so himself. Unfortunately, he was also terrible at keeping relationships. It was just that he’d rather have fun and his partners…

Well, it wasn’t like Sylvain was marriage material in the first place.

Keeping his smile in place, Sylvain shrugged. “The others like it too.” He pointed to where Dorothea and Petra danced, both of them lost in each other’s eyes. “Petra would be alone otherwise. Or Byleth; can you imagine what it’d be like if Claude hadn’t appeared?”

The royal couple were standing to the side. There was a rare smile on Byleth’s face as she chatted with her paramour, and Claude’s smile for once was more genuine than teasing. It hadn’t been that many years since he’d arrived, and Sylvain already couldn’t picture what it’d be like amongst the Fae without him and his schemes. Even amongst the humans who left behind their world to join them, he was an oddity: Sylvain couldn’t be certain if Claude hadn’t planned to join all along or if he’d really just stumbled onto them by accident.

“They’d manage.” Felix didn’t push beyond that, though, and maybe Dorothea and Claude had grown on him more than he’d like to admit. “And that doesn’t mean we should be careless.”

“We’re at a party,” Sylvain pointed out dryly. Carelessness and parties went hand in hand. “It’s not like we meet humans any other way. Aren’t you the least bit interested?”

“In what? They live as long as flies.” Disdain dripped from each word. Not entirely unfairly; humans lived such short lives.

“That’s the best part! You never meet the same one twice.” Sylvain groaned. Talking to Felix about feelings was like talking to a brick wall. Worse, actually, since a brick wall actually listened. There was nothing else to it: he had to get Felix laid.

Now if only someone was willing to look past his glare.

Felix tensed under his arm, his shoulders squaring, and Sylvain glanced at him curiously. His gaze was locked on a pretty blonde just ahead of them. Ignoring everyone around her, she made a beeline for the serving table.

It took a second for him to realize she wasn’t Fae.

_Oh_. He glanced at Felix hopefully, but nope. That wasn’t the look of love, lust, or even fleeting attraction. No, as usual, he was glaring at the poor thing and Sylvain bit back a groan. Felix and his one track-mind. “I’ll take care o’ her.”

Felix snapped his attention to him. “What?”

“I’ll handle herself, don’t worry. Enjoy the party!” Sylvain grinned, ignoring the look of disbelief Felix shot him. Before his friend could protest, he slipped away and trailed after the stranger.

Whoever she was, she must have been starving. By the time he reached her, she already had a plateful of food. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to carefully add another drumstick to her plate. When it wobbled, she worried her bottom lip and he could just imagine the prayers she was silently making.

Sylvain bit back a laugh. It was an utter mystery how Felix could resist someone so cute, but well, that just meant less competition. When the drumstick settled, he applauded, drawing her attention to him. “I’ve never seen that much food fit in a plate without magic.”

The woman turned, her dark green eyes meeting his. For a second, he stopped breathing. For the most part, she was an ordinary woman, a garden-variety beauty with her short blonde hair and jeans. But her eyes—despite the faint drunken flush of her skin, they were piercing and confident.

“Is that an insult?” she asked roughly, breaking the spell. Judging by her accent, she was from across the pond. Confusion marred her face as she glanced at her plate.

“Not at all.” Smoothly, Sylvain leaned against the table. It steadied him. He wasn’t sure what had just happened; perhaps it was a bout of moon madness. Still, it seemed she hadn’t noticed, so he still had a chance to turn this around. With a teasing smile, he playfully asked, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous t’ steal food from a fairy?”

The woman’s head snapped up. Her nose scrunched slightly as she took a step back. “Did you just use a slur?”

“Huh?” Once more, he was off balance, and he had no idea what she was talking about. It was, however, the first time he’d gotten that reaction; almost everyone else from the country knew immediately what he meant when he spoke. Hesitantly, he replied, “No?”

“Why do you sound so confused?” The woman took another step back, her fingers clutching her plate protectively. Whatever her impression of him, it was definitely the opposite of what he wanted.

He had to salvage this, and quickly. “Yer not from around here, are you?”

The woman paused. “Yeah, Canada…oh…” She pursed her lips. “Maybe it doesn’t have the same meaning here.”

_Good, good_. If she was staying still, then he still had a chance. “That’s pretty far.”

“Yeah, I’m here to visit my friend.” Her expression softened. “We skype all the time, but there’s something different about meeting in person.”

_Skype?_ Modern humans kept coming up with the strangest terms. One of these days, he was going to have to visit a town and figure out what they all meant. “There is something different about seeing someone in person,” he agreed, his eyes locking on hers.

She flushed lightly, not missing the insinuation. “It’s a beautiful country.” Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, she chuckled awkwardly. “Though I guess you hear that all the time.”

“Every tourist, but I still like hearing it.” Sylvain grinned. “It’s changed a lot over the years, but Ireland’s still a jewel.”

“Over the years?” The woman raised a brow. “You’re talking like an old man.”

“I’m still young at heart,” Sylvain protested, before running a hand through his hair. “And in looks.”

At that, the woman laughed. It was a rough sound and he was bewitched. “I’ve never heard anyone say that about themselves before.”

“Probably because they aren’t as handsome as me.” Just what could he do to make her laugh like that again?

“Among other things,” the woman wiped an eye, shaking her head.

“So you think I’m handsome?” He smirked.

“That’s…” The woman blushed again. Quickly, she averted her eyes. Around them, the party was still in full swing. The music picked up, and dancers weaved between one another quickly. Small balls of light floated through the air, light and shadow changing from one moment to the next. “This is a big party.”

“We know a lot of people.” Sylvain grinned, not letting her change the subject. “And now I know one more.”

Her lips tightened. Whatever fleeting thing had passed between them was gone. “You don’t know me.”

It was his turn to step back, flabbergasted. Since when had his charm not only failed, but backfired on him? Holding up his hands, he smiled weakly, “You’re right, I don’t know you.”

Her expression grew distrustful.

“We can change that though?” he tried again, holding out a hand. “I’m Sylvain.”

While she didn’t take his hand, she replied reluctantly, “I’m Ingrid.”

A name was a start. Sylvain cocked his head slightly and winked. “So, Ingrid, care for a dance? We can talk more out there.”

If anything, she looked even less interested. “No.”

“No?” Maybe he was dreaming. It was the only thing that made sense.

“No,” she confirmed firmly, turning around and walking to the other side of the table.

Sylvain stared at his hand, still awkwardly held out. Gods, that was embarrassing. He’d never been shot down before, let alone that quickly and cleanly. Mortified, he straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Ohh, that was a miss.” He didn’t even have to look behind him, Dorothea’s musical voice was impossible to mistake for anyone else’s. “I’ve never seen you fail like that before.”

Sylvain sighed, turning around. “You don’t have t’ rub it in.”

“To think your charm didn’t work.” Dorothea chuckled, clearly not done teasing. He’d hear about this for the next hundred years, if not longer. She watched Ingrid, who’d gone right back to eating. “Oh, she’s adorable.”

“Aren’t you married?” he grumbled, shooting her a glare.

As usual, it bounced off her. Dorothea glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening as she took in her paramour. Petra stood on the side, talking animatedly to Ferdinand. Sylvain had never fully confirmed the arrangement between the three, but he couldn’t miss the affection in her smile.

“I still have eyes,” Dorothea finally said, turning back, though her tone had less bite in it. “And I can see you’re fascinated by her.”

“Me?” Sylvain snorted. “Not particularly. I was just savin’ her from Felix.”

“Sure.” Dorothea shrugged, clearly not buying it for an instant. “Then you’re fine if Hilda snapped her up?”

Sylvain jerked his head to Ingrid, but she was still alone. Peals of laughter told him that Dorothea had baited him and he growled, “Dorothea.”

“Please, we’ve known each other for centuries. Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re interested in someone.” Kindly now, she pushed him forward. “Try honesty this time. Trust me, she’ll like it.”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to walk away. But Ingrid smiled as she savoured a bite of cake and he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced at the sight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a general idea how the next few chapters will go, but this is it for now.

Ingrid shivered, a chill running down her spine. It was enough that she set down her fork, glancing around nervously. Most of the guests ignored her, more intent on their friends and lovers than on a nobody like her.

All but one black-haired man, his eyes dark as he glared at her. Confused, she stared back. Just what could she have done—

Ingrid stared at her plate.

_Oh._

She was gatecrashing a party, after all. Maybe he was the host, too polite to do anything more than wish she’d take the hint and leave. And to think that she’d kept piling on food; Ingrid blamed the alcohol. It was the only reason she’d have forgotten her morals.

Well, that and food. But now it’d all left her system, and she could leave.

Setting down her plate, Ingrid turned to go. And bumped into a hard chest. “Excuse me—”

“Not excused,” said a familiar voice and she looked up to find that tall redhead from before.

Sylvain. The flirt. Ingrid immediately stepped back, glaring. “Yes?”

“Look, I’m not askin’ you for a dance.” He held his hands up, trying to act meek. _Trying_ was the keyword—confidence rolled off him in waves and Ingrid couldn’t see him for anything other than the playboy he obviously was.

“Then what are you here for?” she asked, suppressing a groan. “Look, I have to leave.”

“Already?” Sylvain frowned, gesturing at her overfilled plate. “You’re goin’ t’ let that go t’ waste?”

“That’s…” Ingrid rubbed her wrist, unable to argue. She was only making mistakes at this party. “I…”

“You should at least finish it before you go.” Sylvain picked up her fork, cutting a slice of cake. He pointed it at her. “It’s rude otherwise.”

Ingrid stared at the piece, at the white icing on a fluffy cake. Her mouth salivated, betraying her. Angrily, she grabbed the fork out of his hands, taking the bite. “Fine, but only till I’m finished.”

“Good.” Sylvain grinned and she hated the fact that she was playing into his hands. “I’ve never seen anyone eat like you before.”

“I know, I know.” Ingrid rolled her eyes; she’d heard it all before from her parents, classmates, and even random strangers. It was unladylike, unbecoming, and utterly abnormal. “I need to practice self-restraint.”

“Why?” Sylvain stared at her blankly.

“What do you mean, why?” She swallowed the cake, turning to him. “Isn’t it obvious? Even ignoring things like manners, no one eats like this.”

He shrugged, not looking convinced. “They should. You look like you’re really enjoyin’ it.”

Ingrid flushed; he was good. Very good. Maybe it was because he was a playboy, but he knew just what to say. Looking at her cake, she mumbled, “That’s only because the cook is amazing.”

“Even then.” Sylvain leaned forward, until their eyes met again. Her heart flipped funnily. “I think we could all use a little less control.”

“Clearly you need more,” she grumbled, turning away. Ingrid had to get out of here before she did something she’d regretted. Quickly, she scarfed down the last of her cake, not caring what it looked like. This was Ireland. The chances of her running into anyone from here after she’d gone home were miniscule. “Alright, done.” Setting the plate on the table, she stiffly walked away. “See you.”

“Woah, wait!” Sylvain grabbed her wrist. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“What?” Ingrid whirled on him; just why was this guy after her so much? There were so many other people in the party, so many who’d probably fall into his arms without even asking. “What do you want from me?”

“A little time.” Sylvain loosened his grip on her wrist, enough that she could tug free if she wanted. “We can just stand and talk, if you want.”

Ingrid protested, though she didn’t pull away. “You can talk to anyone—”

“They’re not you.” That was an honesty she hadn’t expected. Softly, he repeated, his eyes boring into hers, “They’re not _you_.”

“I…” Ingrid’s mouth went dry. She fumbled for an excuse. “I gatecrashed. I don’t think the host is happy about it.”

“Who—” Confused, Sylvain looked away from her, and Ingrid could breathe again. After a few minutes, he turned back, a mischievous glint in his eye, and she knew she wouldn’t like whatever she was about to hear. “Well, that’s probably because you’re not followin’ our hospitality rules.”

“Hospitality rules?” Ingrid pursed her lips, not following.

“I’m also a host, you see, and you crashed our party and you still haven’t danced once.” Sylvain sighed, letting go of her. Her wrist suddenly felt cold. “It’s rude. It’s like we’re throwin’ a terrible party.”

Ingrid glanced at the angry man she’d spotted earlier. There was not one part of that man who looked like he was interested in dancing. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“It is.” Sylvain nodded solemnly, sighing again. “It’s an old Irish custom and you’re breakin’ it.”

“That’s…that can’t be….” Ingrid rocked back and forth on her heels. Annette had never mentioned anything about this. The guy had to be lying, it had to be some elaborate pick-up line.

Yet.

_Yet._

She’d shamelessly walked into the party and taken their food. “I’ll apologize.”

“What, you didn’t enjoy the party?” Sylvain clutched his chest dramatically and this was definitely an act. “Sayin’ you’re sorry t’ the host…t’ think I’d hear that about one o’ my parties now.” He hung his head, his shoulders slumping.

Ingrid groaned. It’d be quicker if she just agreed to the idiot and then went her way. “One dance? That’s all you need?”

“Absolutely.” He held out a hand again. “Just one.”

Ingrid stared at his hand, then at him. There was an intensity in his eyes that she couldn’t pull away from, that she couldn’t refuse. He was handsome, if she were honest she could admit that. He was handsome and he was charming and for all that Ingrid hated that, she was also charmed by it.

It was just one dance.

_You’re really enjoying it._

She’d never see him again after that.

_We should all have a little less control._

She could blame it on the alcohol. Slipping her hand into his, she nodded. “Fine. One.”

His smile could have rivalled the sun. Immediately, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he slowly led them to the thick of the dance floor. “Just so you know, I wasn’t lyin’. It’s definitely rude to come t’ one of our parties and not dance.”

“Isn’t this too close?” she hissed, pulling back. This close, she could feel the intensity of his eyes and it left her unsettled.

“Right, right.” He laughed, uncontrite as he loosened his grip. “That said, Felix would have been angry anyways; he hates strangers.”

“Felix?” Ingrid stepped back until his hand was only just resting on her waist.

“The one who glared at you.” Sylvain laughed, a sound as smooth as silk. “I swear he doesn’t know how t’ relax.”

“If he’s dealing with you, I can see why,” Ingrid replied, though she couldn’t stop her smile.

“Not you too!” He raised his arms, twirling her. “I’m not that bad.”

_No, you’re not_ , she agreed privately. As she’d expected, he was a great dancer, guiding her expertly through the dancefloor. His hands were oddly gentle as they held her, as though he were handling glass, and she didn’t know what to do with that juxtaposition.

“We’ll see about that,” she replied aloud. His smile grew brighter and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts.

As the night wore on, one dance turned into two turned into many. She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent out here, only that the sky was starting to lighten, the midnight sky transforming into a golden dawn. Strangely enough, her feet didn’t feel tired or sore from any of it. Maybe it was Sylvain’s expert dancing. Maybe it was all the food she’d eaten.

Yawning, she tried to blink away her sleep.

“Tired?” Sylvain asked, pulling her closer.

She didn’t fight it. Exhausted, she rested her head on his chest. “Just…a little…”

“Then rest.” He pressed a kiss on her hair. “I hope we meet again.”

“What…do you…” _mean_ , but before she could say the last word she was fast asleep.

-x-

Birds chirped, their thrills piercing the quiet morning, and Ingrid groaned. Her back felt wet. It was oddly cold. Where were those comforters Annette had gotten out for her? Groping around her blindly, she touched something hard.

Rock hard.

Ingrid’s eyes flew open. Unfocused, she stared at a bright blue sky above her.

She wasn’t in Annette’s house at all. She wasn’t even _in_ a house.

Immediately, she sat up. Looking around, she recognized the stone blocks ringing around her, the fairy circle Annette had shown her the other day. How’d she end up here? She’d gone drinking last night, climbed a mountain in the dark, and ended up at a strange party. Could a heritage site even be used for a party? How did she walk so far?

And why had she been left here alone? Ingrid glanced around, but there was no one else here but her. Not even Sylvain…

Ingrid flushed at the memory. She could still feel his hand on her waist, his intense gaze, his lips on her hair. It had been like something out of Annette’s romance books.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she moaned, burying her face in her hands.

Maybe it had been a dream. A drunken dream. A girl could hope. Ingrid reached into her pocket for her phone. While she was at it, maybe her phone had mysteriously come to life.

Instead, her fingers curled around a small, circular object. Pulling it out, Ingrid found a small gold coin in her hands.

She stared at it for a long moment before flopping on the ground.

“I gate crashed _and_ robbed them.”


End file.
